doing up of this flat caused me raptures. To
get it quite English--in Paris! Every _antiquaire_ in London had
exploited me to his heart's content. I paid for it through the nose, but
each bit is a gem. I am not quite sure now what I meant to do with it
when finished, occupy it when I did come to Paris--lend it to
friends?--I don't remember--Now it seems a sepulchre where I can retire
my maimed body to and wait for the end.

* * * * *

Nina once proposed to stay with me here, no one should know,
Nina?--would she come now?--How dare they make this noise at the
door--what is it?--Nina!

* * * * *

_Sunday_--it was actually Nina herself--"Poor darling Nicholas," she
said. "The kindest fate sent me across--I 'wangled' a passport--really
serious war work, and here I am for a fortnight, even in war time one
_must_ get a few clothes--"

I could see I was a great shock to her, my attraction for her had
gone--I was just "poor darling Nicholas," and she began to be
motherly--Nina motherly!--She would have been furious at the very idea
once. Nina is thirty-nine years old, her boy has just gone into the
flying corps, she is so glad the war will soon be over.

She loves her boy.

She gave me news of the world, our old world of idle uselessness, which
is now one of solid work.

"Why have you completely cut yourself off from everything and everybody,
ever since you first went out to fight?--Very silly of you."

"When I was a _man_ and could fight, I liked fighting, and never wanted
to see any of you again. You all seemed rotters to me, so I spent my
leaves in the country or here. Now you seem glorious beings, and I the
rotter. I am no use at all--"

Nina came close to me and touched my hand--

"Poor darling Nicholas," she said again.

Something hurt awfully, as I realized that to touch me now caused her no
thrill. No woman will ever thrill again when I am near.

Nina does know all about clothes! She is the best-dressed Englishwoman I
have ever seen. She has worked awfully well for the war, too, I hear,
she deserves her fortnight in Paris.

"What are you going to do, Nina?" I asked her.

She was going out to theatres every night, and going to dine with lots
of delicious 'red tabs' whose work was over here, whom she had not seen
for a long time.

"I'm just going to frivol, Nicholas, I am tired of work."

Nothing could exceed her kindness--a mother's kind